


The Gift of the Hidden Heir

by StrictlyNoFrills



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Female Bilbo Baggins, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi, My Christmas Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21946276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrictlyNoFrills/pseuds/StrictlyNoFrills
Summary: It's their first Yuletide after their banishment.
Relationships: Fem!Bilbo/Fili, Fili/Bilbo Baggins
Comments: 16
Kudos: 161





	The Gift of the Hidden Heir

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, lovelies! If you're reading _Into the Wild_ , there's a new chapter up as of last night.

His fingers were numb as they gripped the earthen mug of spiced wine Bilbo had pressed upon him as soon as he returned home, hoping to tide him over until she could set dinner on the table. He sniffed to try and stop the steady downward progression of liquid from escaping his nostrils as he stared out from the front step of their tiny wooden house on the outskirts of Edoras, the winds of the last vestiges of fall ravaging his cheeks and nose.

“Fili, come inside,” he heard Bilbo call fretfully from within. “That wine will do you no good if you insist on standing on the stoop.”

He cast one last glance about the barren plot of land which was all he could provide for his wife and turned to go back inside. His wine had cooled enough in the frigid air that he was able to drain the half of the mug that was left and set it aside so that his hands were free to wrap around Bilbo’s hips. He then rested his head atop hers as she stirred the pot of stew Bilbo had started after she returned home from tutoring the sons of a young lordling this evening.

She jumped, knocking his chin a little with the motion, but she did not startle because she had not known he was behind her – Fili had seen her ears twitch as he approached. “Your hands are like ice,” she said, shuddering and abandoning the stew in order to spin about and cover the backs of his hands with her palms. She chafed at them with her hands, slightly dry from her long hours laboring over parchment, but still far softer than Fili’s would ever be. “What were you doing out there, dearheart?”

With a sigh, Fili admitted, “I was wondering how Kili and Tauriel are doing. Where they’ve settled. What their plans are for their first Yule together.”

Bilbo bit her lip. “I’m sorry you won’t be able to spend this Yule with your brother,” she said, that same look of guilt in her eyes that crept in whenever she remembered that Kili and Tauriel had been forced to take refuge in a different part of the world because a single dwarf with a woman of another race was suspicious enough. Two dwarves married to women outside of their race would inevitably draw attention from parties they were loath to encounter, especially once word had reached them that Thorin was indeed dead and Dain had taken the throne. He knew she would never forgive herself for the fact that Thorin had banished Fili and Kili after they defended her at the gates in front of the combined peoples of Lake-town, Mirkwood, and the Iron Hills, and that a battle had broken out mere hours after the three of them had fled Thorin’s wrath.

At least they had the comfort of knowing, thanks to Tauriel, who had tracked them down after the battle was finished, that the dwarves who had returned to Erebor would not spend the rest of this Age at war with the Men and elves of the East, as all three of the armies of the free peoples had rallied together to fight against the horde of orcs that had descended upon Erebor that day.

He freed his right hand gently and reached up to tuck Bilbo’s wild curls behind her delicately pointed ear, wishing he could afford to spare some metal from his stores to craft her a set of combs to keep her beautiful hair from falling out of the bun she always put it in at the start of the day to keep it out of her face. To think that if things had played out differently, he could have covered her from head to foot in precious metals and gems and fabrics – much as she would have loathed being weighed down by what she would have deemed useless frippery – and yet now he could not even scrape together the funds to give her a present for their first Yule.

It was true that he missed his brother, but he mourned the chance to provide Bilbo the life she deserved even more. Times had ever been lean, living in the Blue Mountains, but even then, he could have crafted Bilbo something beautiful.

“Don’t be sorry, Bilbo. Kili and I had plenty of Yules together growing up. This one is for the two of us.” However meager it would be.

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist, a small, sad smile on her rosebud lips. “Stew’s on.”

…

Ever so lightly, Fili drew the tips of his fingers over the bare skin of Bilbo’s back, listening to the barely-there snores as they escaped her delicate nose. He shifted up to lean his weight onto his elbow and pressed a kiss to her spine before drawing their furs up to cover her from the chill night air. Then he slipped out of their bed and padded over to the chest at the foot of it where he kept his blades when he and Bilbo turned in every night.

Carefully, he lifted up the lid, grateful he had thought to oil the hinges a weak before, as they did not creak even a little now. He reached in and drew out one of the blades Tauriel had returned to him when she caught up to Fili, Kili, and Bilbo two months ago. It was a long knife that Fili had inherited from his father that was more ceremonial than martial, still in its original scabbard. The scabbard was old and worn, and hardly offered any protection from the sharp edges of the blade these days, nor protected the blade from the elements, but the rich brown leather bore the runes denoting his father’s family, and he’d been reluctant to part from one of the last remnants of his father’s legacy, yet in truth, it would be safer if he cast away anything that could tie him to his past.

But perhaps…

His heart ached at the thought of it for several long, slow beats before he pushed the pain away and unsheathed the knife, studying it with a critical eye. The blade was made of good, dwarven steel, and had born up through more than a century of use without dulling or losing its luster. There were several small sapphires, which were the stone of his father’s house, inlaid in the hilt, and a single diamond in the pommel.

Yes. This would do.

…

On the night before Yule, Fili stayed in the forge long after the work the villagers and local lords had contracted him to do had been completed for the day, as he had each night for the past week.

At last, when he felt as though he would collapse from fatigue, he put the finishing touches on the final piece and polished them all. He stored them all in a piece of soft blue cloth that was all that remained of the shirt he had worn on his flight from Erebor two months earlier, and placed them in the leather pouch at his hip.

Then he pulled on his coarse woolen shirt, the sweater Bilbo had knitted him during the course of their first month in Edoras, and the leather coat the local tanner Fili had become friends with had given him a month before, refusing to take Fili’s refusal for an answer, because his youngest son had outgrown it, and the rest of his children were young lasses. The gift had eaten at Fili’s pride somewhat, but he could not deny that he appreciated it now. It was not quite so cold here as it would be now in Erebor, nor in Ered Luin, but it was still far too icy for him to be without a good coat, and it had been made by the tanner’s own two talented hands nearly twenty years ago, and cared for lovingly by each of his five sons.

His boots sank deep into the snowdrifts as he made the long, arduous trek home from the forge, and he practically fell in through the door when he finally made it home, only to freeze, not from the considerable cold, but from the sight of his small wife where she stood at their table, kneading dough.

That morning, when he left for the forge, Bilbo’s hair had been unbound and unkempt from a bout of hurried lovemaking, lying about her shoulders and hips in a curly mane as she bustled about their kitchen, cleaning up the detritus from a hastily made and consumed breakfast with a rosy glow in her cheeks.

Tonight, her curls barely made it past her chin, and they were bound back from her face by a rolled-up rag.

She glanced up from the dough beneath her hands and took in the stunned look he could feel upon his face, and then she looked back down, her motions slower than they were before. “It’s a bit different, I know,” she said shyly.

“Different,” Fili echoed, wondering if blinking hard and long enough would erase whatever she had done to her long, beautiful hair. “Different is deciding to wear it in a fishtail braid instead of in a bun. This is – a bit more extreme than that.” He stared at her wordlessly for a moment and then asked, starting to grow worried, “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly, her eyes wide when she looked up at him once more. Abandoning the dough, she wiped her hands on her apron and strode around the table to stand in front of him. “No, nothing happened. I’m alright, Fili. Truly.”

“Then why…” In dwarven culture, to sheer one’s hair was a sign of deep shame or grief. He knew that it was not so for Bilbo’s people, but even still, he could not imagine what would prompt Bilbo to make such a drastic change.

Offering him a small, slightly nervous grin, Bilbo reached up to cup his cheeks with her warm hands, the scents of yeast and flour and something uniquely Bilbo overtaking Fili’s senses. The tension went out of his shoulders, and he placed his own hands at her waist. “It’s not that bad, is it? It’s only hair, after all. It’ll grow back.”

Fili swallowed roughly and then bent down to place a kiss upon her forehead. “Yes, of course it will. And you know you’ll always be beautiful to me. Only…”

Bilbo tilted her head curiously. “Only, what?”

He removed one hand from her waist to slip into the pouch at his own waist, withdrawing the bundle of fabric and metal. “Only, it will be a while before you will be able to wear these.”

Bilbo glanced between his eyes and the fabric in his hand before pulling away slightly to accept it. Slowly, she pulled back both folds of the dark blue velvet, and she let out a gasp. “Oh, Fili. Where did you get these?” She ran her fingers lightly over the single band of thick steel, adorned only with a diamond in the center and delicate designs he had carved into the mold to look like belladonna flowers. Then she traced over the four small combs, each with a sapphire inlaid at the top.

“Do you remember the blade that belonged to my father?”

Bilbo’s gaze flitted over to something sitting on their bed and then back. “Yes,” she said slowly, before taking another look at the gift. He could see it the moment she put the pieces together. She closed her eyes and huffed a barely perceptible laugh, shaking her head. “You melted it down to make me a Yule present.” When she opened her eyes, she gave him a soft, slightly wry look. “They’re beautiful, Fili. Absolutely exquisite. And someday, they will look wonderful in my hair. But for now, there’s something you need to see.”

Taking him by the hand, she led him over to their bed, where she placed her gift. Then she motioned to the thing that had briefly drawn her focus away earlier. “Open it.”

He studied her bright blue eyes for a moment and then complied, untying two bows made from twine and pulling two folds of burlap open. When he took in what laid within the rough cloth, his shoulders began to shake, lips parting in silent laughter.

It was a new sheath for his father’s blade. He turned and wrapped his arms around his wife, who was giggling and crying, and she buried her face in his chest. “What a pair we make,” he said wonderingly.

She sniffled and then lifted her head to gift him with a watery grin. “Someday, you’ll be able to make a blade even more beautiful than your father’s. And perhaps,” she added with a strangely knowing look in her eyes, “one day you will pass it on to your son.”

Fili’s brow furrowed. “Perhaps I may,” he allowed. “Though we may not be able to have children,” he reminded her gently.

“Oh,” Bilbo replied, “I rather think you’ll find that we can.” She took one of his hands and pressed it to her lower abdomen.

“Bilbo?” he asked, his voice breathless.

“I have one more gift for you,” she told him. “Aethel, the midwife, confirmed it earlier today.”

For a moment, all he could think about was how little he had to give this little life his wife would one day soon bring into the world, but then a sense of wonder swept such cares away. There would be time for fear and worry later. For now, he had a loving wife who must have sold her hair to his tanner friend in exchange for a beautiful scabbard which was currently without a blade.

He swept her up and spun her about before bending down to capture her lips in a kiss full of laughter and a few tears, though Fili was hard-pressed to say whether they were Bilbo’s or his.

“Happy Yuletide, Bilbo,” Fili whispered against her smiling mouth, finding that even with all of the challenges ahead of them, and the many losses that had led them here, he meant it with his whole heart.

“Happy Yuletide, Fili.”


End file.
